Poetry Thursday - Enough

IT IS ENOUGH

It is enough to have this morning's day
The sky swept clean by stars' adventurous light
That garnished earth and gave the animals
Freelancing songs and stillnesses of night.

We share the entire wealth of calendars
That hold the love of earth and happy heaven
Marking our own spot in centuries
Writing our own labors in our own love given.

It's quite a legacy to have charge of Time
To tick the meaning of the endless ages
Custodians of streets and roads and houses
Spelling our own names on our own pages.
Speaking our deeds and hopes on holy earth
Entrusted to us at our lucky birth.

by Sister Mary Faith Schuster, OSB

For another beautiful poem by this poet, which I shared in the summer of 2007, click here.

photo by Aisling, November 22, 2009

A Haiku - Nightfall

finally rain falls

filling the darkness with sound

the sweetest music

~ a haiku, by Aisling, August 28, 2008

I took my children to a travelling display at a museum in a nearby city that focused on the pop art of Japan. After that, we headed to a mall to purchase just a few school supplies. As much as I resist "conspicuous consumerism", I can't quite resist stocking up on a few notebooks when they are 10 cents a piece. This is the time of year that I get a little bit nostalgic for those really thick "back to school" fashion magazines that I once loved, though I haven't revamped my wardrobe for autumn since I was a school girl.

In the late afternoon, with one daughter at work and the other getting a new hairstyle at a salon, I took my sons home. They played, getting dusty in the dry August afternoon, while I cut broccoli in the garden and made dinner. Limerick, my husband, has a lunch BBQ at work tomorrow and asked me to make a dish to pass. I opted for pasta salad with farfalle (bow ties) noodles and lots of fresh veggies (including carrots, basil, broccoli, and little yellow tomatoes) from the garden. As I ran out to the garden for a couple of red onions, I felt the first drops of rain. Ah, finally rain falls...

photo by Aisling, Summer 2008

Natural Things

playground on the beach

waves crash, wind moves through the trees

happy children laugh

~ Aisling, July 30, 2008

Our town is having their annual four-day summer festival. A midway has been squeezed into a parking lot near the marina, giving Ferris wheel riders a glimpse of sailboats and sparkling water. Events, from concerts to races, contests to full-scale dinners, have been planned to fill the days with idyllic summer fun.

Yesterday, my boys took a couple of rides at the midway and then, reluctantly, set the rest of their tickets aside for another day. We walked down to the playground on the beach. I sat on a bench and watched as they ran from one play structure to another. Other children were playing there too. A little girl with white-blond hair skipped proudly in a white gauze skirt. One torn flounce fluttered behind her in the breeze, like the most elegant train. Before we headed back to the heart of town, where a band was playing in the street, the boys wanted to dip their toes in the lake. The sheltered harbor on one of the Great Lakes had faded from aquamarine to pale bluish gray in the time we were there. The sun was setting behind a bank of white clouds with sun beams streaming down in the way that always makes me think of angels descending. Even my nine year old son appreciated the beauty of that sky. "I wish I had a camera!" he exclaimed, "That looks really cool!"

After "just one more time down the slide, Mom," we walked barefoot along the sand and up the blacktop trail to the edge of the park, where we sat down in the grass to put on our sandals. We had started back to town when suddenly my five year old shouted, "I forgot my kiwi!" I was confused, until he ran back to the grassy spot where we put our shoes on and grabbed a wispy bit of "seaweed" he had been carrying around.

While I sat, listening to my sons and the other children laugh and call to one another in bright loud voices that harmonized like music with the sounds of wind and water, I composed the little haiku that began this post. It will have to serve as my "photograph" of the moment, my memory keeper, for I didn't have a camera on hand. I don't always capture such moments in haiku, but I do try to hold them in memory. I used to tell my daughters, when a camera was needed but not available, "I guess I'll have to take a picture with my heart." With four children, growing so fast and so beautifully, my memory is overflowing with heart-pictures.

...

The photo above is from my garden, where the crib my children once slept in has been re-purposed as a trellis. It wasn't in good enough shape to save for other generations. This is liatris, Kobold blue, taken July 27, 2008 by Aisling

A Beautiful Thursday Afternoon

wind taps the window

dances through the room singing

come outside to play

~ a haiku, by Aisling, July 24, 2008

Most of the day, I've been in the house cleaning. I've scrubbed the inside of the refrigerator, done several loads of laundry, and done some reorganizing in my bedroom. I'm accomplishing some things that are long overdue, but the beautiful day is calling to me. When this next sinkful of dishes is done, I think I'll go outside and pull some weeds in the garden. I'll take a look around and see what is ready to harvest so that I may plan dinner. I may even wander over to the "berry bramble" and nibble a few golden raspberries.

Where-ever you are, whatever the weather, I hope you enjoy the beauty of the day.

photo by Aisling, Thundercloud Plum & today's beautiful blue sky

Patience Rewarded

the gardener waits
the bud softens with color
the flower unfurls

~ a haiku, by Aisling, July 17, 2008

These photos, which I took today, are of the Asiatic lily Cannes, one of my favorites (aren't they all?!) In the background, the orange flowers are asclepius, or butterfly weed. Love that too!

Country Dance

corn stalks wave their leaves

silver and blue oat fields sway

partners in the dance



~ a haiku, by Aisling, July 10, 2008

An Apronful of Peas

I've become so immersed in my gardening that I have neglected to share poetry here on Thursdays for the past few weeks. I've just discovered (or rather rediscovered) that if you look hard enough, you can find poetry even about vegetables. I like this one by Eleanor Farjeon, who wrote the beautiful lyrics of Morning Has Broken.

Vegetables

The country vegetables scorn

To lie about in shops,

They stand upright as they were born

In neatly-patterned crops;

And when you want your dinner you

Don't buy it from a shelf,

You find a lettuce fresh with dew

And pull it for yourself;

You pick an apronful of peas
And shell them on the spot.

You cut a cabbage, if you please,

To pop into the pot.

The folk who their potatoes buy

From sacks before they sup,

Miss half of the potato's joy,

And that's to dig it up.

~ by Eleanor Farjeon (1881-1965)

The photo, taken yesterday by my daughter Haiku, shows the blossoms on some of our snow peas. Thus far, we have only had a few radishes and an abundance of herbs from our garden, but soon I hope to pick an entire "apron full of peas" as this poet suggests, to add to our evening meal.

I hope you find some poetry in this day.

Unfurling...

soft catkins emerge

lilac leaf buds swell with green

spring is unfurling.

~ Aisling, April 17, 2008

photos by Aisling, April 17, 2008 1) willow catkin 2) sensation lilac leaf buds 3) little bee on the first daffodil to bloom this year.

Poetry Thursday: A Little Tennyson

I did not find any time to write a poem this week, though I loved the "totally optional writing prompt" suggested by Poetry Thursday for the week. The prompt was simply the word "rivers." Maybe over the weekend, I will find a few moments to scribble some lines about rivers. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this tiny snippet, just the first stanza really, of a long lovely poem by Tennyson called "Maud." And above, there is a photo of my Maude, joining me in the garden (well, actually leaving me cheerfully behind as she races to the pond.)

"COME into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, Night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the roses blown."

~ Alfred Tennyson, Lord Tennyson. 1809 – 1892

The scents that "waft abroad" in my own garden right now are those of lilac, and iris, and the thorny, invasive Russian and Autumn Olives that abound on this property. These non-native species thrive here, except where we have pulled them up by the root. Despite all those negative attributes, the tiny white and yellow blooms are delicate and pretty, and the scent, strong and sweet, is a fragrant invitation to linger outdoors.

photo 1 by Aisling, May 29, 2007 , Maude in the field

photo 2 by Haiku, May 30, 2007, Heuchera (coral bells) dripping over the garden trail

poem from A Selection of Poetry in the public domain

All the words that I write...

If you are not a fan of poetry, then ignore me on Thursdays! I'm going to try to participate in Poetry Thursday for a while. I did not decide to do this early enough to use their writing prompt for this week, but will try to do so some of the time. My first Poetry Thursday post will be a short poem by William Butler Yeats. I love how this poem suggests that we write not only to be heard, but also to offer comfort.

"ALL the words that I utter,
And all the words that I write,
Must spread out their wings untiring,
And never rest in their flight,
Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,
And sing to you in the night,
Beyond where the waters are moving,
Storm-darken'd or starry bright. "

William Butler Yeats.

1865 - 1935

Photo by Haiku, May 12, 2007, Apple Blossoms

Poem copied from A Selection of Poetry (in the public domain)

Silent Grace...

The first tiny blossoms of my perennial forget-me-not (Heart-leaf Brunnera) bloomed today. This plant will be lush with blossoms over the next few weeks, but none will thrill my heart as did these first two blooms today. That touch of tender blue, like the summer sky that I am dreaming of, is so encouraging on a day that offered both April sunshine and April showers.

I found the old-fashioned poem written by a Canadian Poet about forget-me-nots, in an era when the language of flowers was symbolic and meaningful to lovers and romantics, as well gardeners. As the poet says, "Ah! every blossom hath a tale, with silent grace to tell." Over and over again, that silent grace beckons me into the garden, calms and renews me, and connects me to the earth.

Forget-Me-Not

Could every blossom find a voice
And sing a strain to me,
I know where I would place my choice,
Which my delight should be.
I would not choose the lily tall,
The rose from musky grot,
But I would still my minstrel call
The blue Forget-me-not.

And I on mossy bank would lie,
Of brooklet, rippling clear;
And she of the sweet, azure eye,
Close at my listening ear,
Should sing into my soul a strain
Might never be forgot,
So rich with joy, so rich with pain--
The blue Forget-me-not.

Ah! every blossom hath a tale,
With silent grace to tell,
From rose that reddens to the gale
To modest heather-bell;
But oh! the flower in every heart
That finds a sacred spot
To bloom, with azure leaves apart,
Is the Forget-me-not.

Love plucks it from the mosses green
When parting hours are high,
And places it Love's palms between
With many an ardent sigh;
And bluely up from grassy graves
In some loved churchyard spot
It glances tenderly and waves--
The dear Forget-me-not.

by Crawford, Isabella Valancy (1850-1887)
Poem is in the public domain..

photo by Aisling, April 28, 2007; perennial forget-me-nots